Right Kind of Wrong
by WriteToBeMe92
Summary: "If being with you is wrong, then I don't want to be right." All Human. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Monday, September 5****th**

"Call me Bella," I said, reading into the obvious perplexity in his expression.

He glanced at me and then back to the transcript. "Bella?" he asked, still looking at the paper.

I merely nodded my head. 'Isabella' was just too formal for me.

"Nice to have you aboard, Miss Swan. Please, come on in. I'm Mr. Masen." I nodded and decided to skip another awkward introduction. "This is first period English." He turned to walk to the large desk in front of the classroom. "Let's find a place for you to sit, shall we?" He pulled a black binder from the top drawer and flipped through the pages. "Okay," he said, looking at the spread of empty desks. "Looks like the second chair in row three is all yours."

I nodded in thanks and turned to the assigned desk as he marked the change in his seating chart.

Honestly, I had no preconceived notions about my probably short-lived time at Forks High School. It was the fifth high school I'd attended in the last four years, eleventh total counting elementary school – yet something else to credit to my mother's impulsive behavior.

I slid in the chair and stared at the desk. My eyes darted to the carved initials in the upper right corner – _JS+MN; _romanticized puppy love. _How cute._

I pulled a notebook, binder, and spread of pencils from my bag as Mr. Masen moved to the chalkboard, turned his back, and wrote in small strokes.

With nothing but is backside to stare at – _no complaints here _– I continued watching him. He was young – no older than twenty-five – and obviously a fairly new teacher. He had a perfect combination of physical assets hat worked wonders for him – ivory skin, emerald green eyes, and an odd shade of bronze hair.

When it came down right to it, this man was beautiful in every sense of the word.

I tried not to let my mind go there; after all, he was my _teacher. _But try as I might, I failed miserably. Mr. Masen was easily the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen at the front of a classroom…or _anywhere _for that matter.

"Is something wrong, Miss Swan?"

Through daydreaming, I somehow failed to noticed that he'd turned from the board and was staring directly at me.

I snapped out of the fog, but still found myself blinking excessively. He caught me looking – ogling actually – and I had come up with _something _that wouldn't make me look like a blubbering idiot. Surely I couldn't admit that I was watching him, wondering how on God's green Earth he'd won the genetic lottery. So, I stammered for a minute and then finally managed to say, "Makeup assignments?"

"No worries," he said grinning, and I suspected he knew exactly why I was flustered. He seemed like the kind of guy who was used to leaving girls a little speechless. Still, he placated me. "You're only coming into the course a week late. Given your grades," he said looking over my transcripts, "I think you'll be fine."

I humbly agreed. Like Mr. Masen, I didn't foresee any problems catching up. I'd worked hard over the past twelve years to maintain a perfect GPA. Hopping schools mid-year since kindergarten made it difficult to stay on top of my studies. Still, I strived to be an award-winning designer someday and that meant getting into a top-notch college. And in order to do that, I never stopped working. In the years when I _should've_ been socializing and molding my relationship skills, I was focused on academics.

"This is an interesting transcript," Mr. Masen said, still at his desk. He held the paper for a few seconds before tossing it down on a stack of folders. Hesitantly, he walked across the room and leaned on the edge of the desk in front of mine. "Where exactly did you come from?"

"Just a small-town in Oregon," I said, twisting my lips. "Before that…Utah."

"You're no stranger to new schools then, I assume?"

"That one way of putting it," I said, elaborating for his benefit. "Before moving over to the west coast, we lived in Tennessee. Before that, we come from West Virginia. Then…New York. But that didn't work out, either."

"You're serious?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You can't make this stuff up–"

"That's quite a bit of moving–"

"You really have no idea," I muttered, pushing the pencils around my desk to keep from staring at him. Forks bring house number eighteen and school number eleven."

His eyebrows pulled together. "Mind if I ask why?"

"My mother doesn't like settling," I informed him, shrugging noncommittally. "She likes new scenery."

He nodded as if he understood, but I sensed he was only humoring me. He probably thought – based on my brief explanation – that my mother was a psychotic serial killer on the run. Truthfully, Renee Dwyer is a lot of things, but a serial killer isn't one of them.

Her life – _our_ lives, actually – had been pretty rocky straight from the start. She found out she was pregnant with me at fifteen and gave birth right after her sixteenth birthday. From what I know, my biological father, Charles Swan just couldn't handle the responsibility of raising a child and left my mother and me to fend for ourselves.

I don't remember anything about the man. I wouldn't know him if I saw him. Pictures? Forget about it. Mom was so hell-bent on ridding him from our lives that she destroyed every last reminder she had…everything except for me, of course.

A loud bell overhead sounded then as I looked back to my notebook. A group of students filed into the classroom, talking and shuffling around as they settled into their desks. One of the loudest – a tall, skinny boy with spiky blonde hair and cute baby face – slid into the seat next to mine. He turned in his chair and fixed his eyes on me, but I chose to ignore his gaze. When the awkward, one-way staring war went on for far too long, I finally turned to look at him.

"New meat," he said, his blue eyes moving quickly as he examined every inch of my face. "What's your name?"

"Bella," I said, observing him just as he'd done me. He was cute, I'd give him that. But wasn't _nearly _as cute as he thought he was.

"Bella," he repeated, "Nice to meet ya."

"And you are?" I inquired, quirking a brow.

"Oh, I'm gonna remain a mystery," he said, winking and slumping lower in his chair.

"You _poor, poor _girl," a voice said behind me. I turned to find a short, petite brunette girl in the desk directly behind mine. "Bella, right?"

"Um, yeah," I said, sounding a little unsure of myself.

"Jessica," she said, displaying a genuine, dimpled smile. "And the 'mystery man' is Mike Newton."

"The ladies call me Michael–"

"The ladies call you _revolting_," she spat at him.

I stared between the two of them. They carried on their argument, but I only watched and observed.

Mike was laid back and possessed a certain (cocky) charm – charm that I could only imagine was quite effective on his so-called ladies. Jessica, though, had a personality that screamed energy and excitement (the polar opposite of my introverted ways). Standing, I would tower her small stature. Her loose, mousy brown curls bounced freely as she talked, reminding me that my brunette hair seldom left the bun on the back of my head. But our eyes matched – a light, almost caramel, brown. Except mine, of course, were hidden behind large, circular glasses. The two of us were nothing alike, though I found myself admiring everything about her.

"Quiet down," Mr. Masen said as a second bell faded into the background. The once empty desks were now filled with dtudents, most of who hadn't even notices me. With our teacher's two-word command, the room silenced and every eye stared straight forward. "As some of you have already noticed, we have a new student joining us today."

Mike was no longer looking in my direction, but the rest of the class turned to stare. Whispers filled the small room. A blonde two rows over raised her brows and waved her fingers with a perky smile.

A boy in the back of the room let out a low chuckle. "What's your name, sweet cheeks?"

I sunk a little lower in the desk, embarrassed by the sudden and unwanted attention. After a moment of silence on my behalf, Mr. Masen raised his hand to quiet the other students.

"Bella," he said, cupping his hands together. "Welcome to class. Feel free to speak up if you have any questions. I'm sure your peers will be _more_ than willing to help you out. Furthermore," he said, now directing his attention to Jessica and Mike. "I'm glad Miss Stanley has already taken the liberty to warn you about Mr. Newton."

"Ah, come on, Masen," Nick said, clutching his chest. "You know you love me, dude. Don't hate."

With a quick wink and another warm welcome, Mr. Masen turned to the board and jumped straight into the lesson.

* * *

English moved quickly. The following class – American Government – was just as fast. Like first period, I sat next to Mike in this course – but only because there were no assigned seats, and I tended to cling to familiarity. A block of Spanish – no familiar faces there – followed second period and ended with the start of the lunch bell.

Without a friendly ally by my side, I walked aimlessly through the hallway trying to remember my way to the cafeteria. I followed the current of students, hoping I was on the right track.

"Isabella!" A loud, high-pitched yell echoes through the hallway. I, like he rest of the crowd, stopped to watch Jessica run down the corridow with her arms flailing in the air. "Isabella! _Bella, wait up!" _She stopped nec to me and leaned over to catch her breath. With her hands planted on her knees, she looked up at me with wide eyes. "Ive' been tring to find you since the bell rang. Didn't you hear me yelling?"

"You were yelling for me?"

"You_ are _Isabella, right?

I nodded. "I mostly just go by Bella."

"Okay. _Bella_. Got it." She smiled, standing straight. "Well, you can sit with me." She linked our arms together and pulled me into the cafeteria. "So?"

"So?" I echoed, hoping she would continue.

"Where're you from?"

"Oh, I said, hoping I'd only have to give her the short version. "We–"

"Out of state?" she asked. "What about siblings? Are you an only child? _Ooo_," she said, suddenly distracted by the short lunch line. Pulling me along, we stood behind a group of jocks as she continued her line of questioning. "What are your parents like? Mean, laid back, somewhere in between? Mine are pretty strict, but it's totally cool. I know they mean well." Her eyes widened further and she grabbed my arm. "Oh my God, I have to ask! What did you think of Mr. Masen? Isn't he _hot_?"

"I guess, yeah—"

"Oh!" She slapped herself on the head. "Silly me. You probably want to get your food before we start swapping stories."

We kept weaving through the line. Jessica settled for nothing more than an apple and a bottle of water. I followed suit, not in much of a mood to eat. I know I should've mastered it by that point, but first days always made me nervous.

"We sit over here," Jessica said, directing me to a large table in the far corner of the cafeteria. We sat across from one another and she leaned forward. "Well?"

"Huh?" I voices, blinking slowly at her.

"Where did you come from?"

"Oregon—"

"Oregon!" And before she had time to fire off another question, Mike slid in next to her.

"Ladies," he said, nodding. He then took no time at all to devour the steaming pile of spaghetti on his tray.

I looked between Jessica and Mike, fully expecting to see another spat. But Jessica rolled her eyes and took a chunk out of the apple. "Don forgesh yous gotta audition for the playsh this evening," she said to Mike.

"I'm not doing that—"

"You most certainly are," she said, swallowing the mouthful of fruit.

"Forget it, Jess—"

"Mike Newton," she said sternly, now pointing a finger in his face. "You lost, you pay."

"Lost what?" I asked, fully aware that I was sticking my nose where it didn't belong.

"The bet," Mike mumbled.

"The bet?" I asked , looking at a smug Jessica.

"He bet me that Mr. Masen would be engaged to Miss Holt by the beginning of the year. He was so sure. But he was wrong, so I got to choose the terms of his loss–"

"Big mistake," he added.

"Who's Miss Holt?" I asked, remembering that I'd seen her name on my schedule, but obviously hadn't had her class yet.

"Math teacher," Mike said, rolling his eyes. "And I was positive she'd have a ring on her finger—"

"But she doesn't," Jessica continued. "Mike lost the bet—"

"So he's auditioning for...?"

"_Romeo and Juliet_."

"You know, just because you're into all that drama crap doesn't mean _I'm_ gonna like it—"

"For one, _Michael_, it's not 'crap'. And two, I don't care if you like it. I need a Romeo. You bet. You lost. I won. Deal with it."

"You're Juliet?" I asked, somehow not surprised. Jessica seemed like the theatrical type.

"Not yet," Mike said. "But she's practically a shoo-in. There's nobody better for the part." Jessica smiled and flipped her hair behind her shoulder. "No one except for La—"

"_Don't_ say it," Jessica warned him.

"Lauren Mallory."

"Who's Lauren?"

"_I'm _Lauren," a voice behind me said. I turned to see the perky blonde from Mr. Masen's class – the one who'd waved her fingers at me like she was a candidate for Miss America. She was just as beautiful as I'd remembered her from hours before. Her pin-straight hair graced her shoulders as she dropped her head to the side and looked down at our group. I noticed a tiny beauty mark above her lip, one that would make her easily identifiable in a line-up. She stood at the side of the table, looking at me with vague interest. "And you're Bella? Isabella Swan, right?"

"How do you–?"

"I make it my business to know everything about my peers," she said slyly as she stood a little taller. "Welcome to Forks."

She was gone as quickly as she'd appeared. Jessica and Mike turned to me with their mouths ajar.

"What's her deal?" I inquired, my eyes widening slightly.

"Inflated ego," Jessica said. "Just sizing up the competition."

"Competition?"

"She's a homecoming queen candidate," Jessica explained. "And the Student Body President… and most likely the Valedictorian. God," she said, puffing her cheeks. "I can't believe she's going out for the show; as if she doesn't already have everything." I nodded.

I knew the type. I'd met more than a handful of the Lauren-Mallory-types over the past few years.

"Try not to sweat it," I said, giving her an encouraging nod. "I'm sure you'll get the role." I took a drink of my water and secured the lid back on the bottle. "Let me know how it goes, okay?"

"You're not coming?"

"Huh?"

"To the auditions! _You're not coming_?"

"I'm sure she's coming," Mike said, rubbing her back. He looked at me with wide eyes. "You _are_ coming, right, Bella?"

"Yeah, sure," I said, determined not to let her down. It hadn't taken long to make friends; I didn't want to lose them just as fast. "I'll come… _to watch_."

"Oh, thank God!" she said, clapping enthusiastically. "You're an angel_! I love you. I love, love, love you_!"

"You're not gonna make her audition?" Mike asked, seemingly disgusted that he was the only one getting the raw end of the deal.

"Of course not!" she said. "Bella has stage fright written all over her. She's more of a backstage kinda gal, right?"

"Well, no," I said, shaking my head a little too hard. "I'm just going for moral support. I don't want to be on either side of the stage–"

"Oh, you have to sign up," she begged. "It's the best way to get to know new people. I'm sure you could assist the stage manager or something. Or, if you don't wanna do that, there's a set to build, props to gather, make-up, costumes–"

"Costumes?" I asked, suddenly eager to put my creativity to work.

"Yup," she said. "So, whaddaya say?"

"I guess that doesn't sound _so bad_–"

"Great!" she said, clapping again. "Meet us outside the school at five. Oh, and dress nice. I know you're only going out for crew, but rumor has it Mr. Masen's directing and… well, you'll wanna look your best. God knows he'll be dressed to impress."

Jessica and I shared a childlike giggle and Mike rolled his eyes.

"You girls," he said, shaking his head. "What's the big deal with that guy, anyway?"

_You have no idea, Mike._


	2. Chapter 2

**Monday, September 5****th****; 5:15 pm. **

"Nervous?" I asked as we walked into the auditorium a little past five o'clock.

"Of course not—"

"Speak for yourself," Mike interrupted Jessica. "I think I'm gonna barf."

The theatre was fairly large; there were aisles among aisles of red, plush folding seats already filling with hopeful cast and crew members. The students faced a stage that expanded from one wall to the next; some were excitedly socializing while others remained silent, seemingly on the verge of throwing up at any given moment.

"This is quite a turnout," I said as my eyes scanned over the multitude of my peers that had shown up.

"The love of the art is growing!" Jessica squealed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Her enthusiasm was contagious.

"_Gag me_," Mike grumbled, walking away and taking a seat alone in the back.

Once he was out of earshot, I leaned over and nudged Jessica. "So, are you and Mike…?" I trailed off suggestively.

"What?"

"Are you two–?"

"We've been best friends since preschool," she explained, shrugging. "It's a love-hate thing."

I nodded, somewhat understanding. But something in her eyes told me there was more to her 'friendship' with Mike than she was letting on.

Mr. Masen climbed onto the stage then; the room immediately fell silent.

"The man commands a room, huh?" Jessica whispered.

I nodded my head. "I'll say," I responded under my breath.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen," he greeted, cupping his hands together. "Thank you all for joining us here. Unfortunately, and as most of you already know, Mrs. Alder was injured in a roofing accident last week. She is on bed rest for the next few months, unable to direct the fall production of _Romeo and Juliet._" Some students grumbled; others rolled their eyes. Some, like Mike, didn't seem to care one way or the other. "For those of you who are used to the stunning Alder productions, I regret to inform you that I'm stepping up to take the reins."

Most of the girls in the audience whistled and giggled. Jessica, as I should've guessed, was among that group.

As I watched our English teacher in front of the crowd, I couldn't help but notice how he had taken everyone's attention, the way every eye watched him with admiration. And then one thing about Forks High suddenly became clear to me: everyone loved and respected Mr. Masen.

A group of boys clapped and cheered as Miss Holt joined her coworker center stage. My little experience in Miss Holt's class earlier today told me everything I needed to know about her; she was an adult replica of Lauren Mallory. Her golden-blonde hair was pulled back into a tight chignon, the color complimenting her grey eyes. And just like Lauren, she walked around like the whole world owed her a favor.

"_Shh_," Miss Holt said, lifting a finger to her red painted lips. "Quiet down." When the cheers and whistles finally subsided, she continued. "We're starting with brief interviews and sign-ups for crew positions in the back." She motioned toward a desk set up along the back of the auditorium. "It should only take about fifteen minutes, so actors should start preparing monologues. Also," she said, looking past the front rows. "You are only allowed to stay for the auditions if you intend to _act _in the show. We want this process to go as smoothly as possible, so no stragglers."

Jessica merely rolled her eyes, then frowned towards me.

I flinched, smiling emphatically. "Sorry," I mouthed to her.

"I have two requests," Mr. Masen spoke again holding up two fingers. "First, please be patient with us. We're clearly not as skilled and professional as Mrs. Alder, but we will most certainly try as hard as we can to produce the best show possible. And second, we know how much some of you look forward to being in the show." His gaze fell on Jessica, and I noticed how her posture straightened slightly. I bit back a grin.

"But there are more students than there are roles," he continued, clearing his throat, "so more of you may have to settle for less than what you want. Unfortunately, that's the life of an actor. All I ask is that you _please _use this process as a learning experience. Don't let the outcome make or break you. Now, with that behind us, I wish you all the best of luck."

"Okay," Miss Holt spoke up again. "Anyone interested in signing up to work backstage should go ahead and line up.

The two teacher moved off the stage and toward the desk. Together they sat side-by-side and began talking to a group of students who were already waiting.

I turned to Jessica, gnawing my lower lip. "Um, should I…?"

"Go, go," she said, pushing me along. "You have a resume, right?"

"Not _exactly_–"

"_Bella_!"

"I've never done anything like this," I was quick to defend myself. "But I did bring my portfolio." I lifted my rawoing collection out of my shoulder bag. "Will it suffice?"

Jessica took the binder and flipped it open, glancing over some of my sketches. "_You drew these_?"

"Yes–"

"Honey," she said, pushing the collection back in my hands. "_Go_!"

"Okay," I said, smiling sheepishly. "Uh…good luck–"

"_Break a leg,_" she corrected me melodramatically.

With a helpful shove from Jessica, I moved toward the signup line. I clutched the portfolio to my chest and waited patiently as the group slowly progressed forward.

"Miss Swan," Mr. Masen acknowledged me, seemingly surprised, as I finally reached the table. "It's good to see you getting involved on your first day."

"_Jessica_–"

"Say no more," he interjected, chuckling throatily. I liked how his eyes crinkled in the corners. "I figured as much." I nodded my head, signing my name under the costume crew. He eyes he paper in front of his and looked back at me. "Do you have any experience in costuming?"

"No, but I brought–"

"You were instructed to bring a resume," Miss Holt interrupted.

"I've never done this before," I explain, blatantly ignoring her sneer. Keeping my gaze on Mr. Masen's entrancing green eyes, I continued, "I'm sorry, but I don't have an experience in the theatre, but I _have _been designing and constructing clothing since I was twelve." He didn't break eye contact as he extended his hand to take me designs.

He opened the portfolio after I handed them over, and immediately drew in his bottom lip. He flipped through a few more pages without a word, but his eyes wandered wildly across each design.

"Well," I said after a few long seconds. "What do you think?"

"Miss Swan, these are incredible," he commented, looking back to me with a wide smile. "You'd be a valuable asset to our–"

Miss Holt's scoff interrupted him. "I thought you were going to ask your aunt to help design the costumes, Edward," she said to her co-director as if I couldn't hear the objection in her voice.

"My aunt has bigger and better things to do than to bother herself with this production, Tanya," he said, trying to keep his voice low. "Besides, there's no point in asking for outside help when we have a qualified student candidate right in front of us." He sifted through the designs again. A few minutes later, he closed the portfolio and offered it to Miss Holt, who declined looking at it. He ignored her blunt rudeness and passed the collection back to me. "Thank you for coming out and sharing this, Bella. You can look for the crew list first thing tomorrow morning."

"Thank you," I said, turning to walk away. I caught Jessica's eye and smiled as I reached the back door of the auditorium. She waved and signaled a thumbs up. Much to her chagrin, I mouthed _'good luck' _and left the building.

I stepped into the warm summer evening, slightly saddened that I was welcome by the sun's rays. Rather, I was met with an overcast sky as I moved across the empty parking lot. Our latest rental was only one block from school, which was an added convenience for walking to and from – especially since I didn't have a driver's license.

I rounded the curb on Main Street and made the short walk down the block. I pulled a set of keys from my pocket as I approached the large two-story brick house on the corner. I let myself in the front door and tossed my bag aside.

"Mom," I called, looking around the first floor and dodging boxes left and right. She hadn't been home when I had stopped by after school to get my portfolio for the auditions. But her car was in the driveway now, so she had to be around somewhere. "_Hello_?"

"In here, Bella!"

I followed her voice through the kitchen and into the dining room at the back of the house. I stopped dead in my tracks at the sight in front of me. The room had taken an incredible transformation in the last hour. No longer empty, there was now a large table – complete with eight chairs – centered on a beautifully patterned rug.

"What's going on, Mom?" I asked, running my fingers along the table cloth.

"Baby," she said, her eyes lighting up. "Whaddya think?"

"I'm…confused."

"What do you mean?"

"There's furniture."

"Yes–"

"_Why_?"

"Because, silly," she chuckled, turning to adjust the curtains. "Why not?"

"Well," I began, "for starters, we've _never _had furniture. And when we leave – and we _will _leave – you won't be able to take it with you." When she stared at me seemingly confused, I simply shrugged. "Aren't you the one always telling me not to own more than I can carry?"

"But…" She was trying to come up with a valid argument, but she didn't have a leg to stand on. And she knew it. "Okay, listen. This table is more than just a piece of furniture, Bella."

"Okay…"

"It represents something _bigger_; a promise I'd like to make," shw sid, taking a deep breath and standing taller. "I think…it's time we settle down – turn a house into a home. Don't you?"

"Well, yeah," I said, taken aback. "But I–"

"But _nothing_, Bella," she said, taking a picture from a nearby box and hanging it on the wall. "We're not leaving. End of story."

I stood back and watched her decorate, but it seemed far too foreign. Here she was…a woman who was always on edge and ready to move at the drop of a hat…decorating; putting down roots. She was up to something, but I couldn't tell what. She was trying too hard. She had to know I'd be suspicious. After all, we hadn't even unpacked the boxes in our last three homes. Why the sudden change of heart?

I kept watching her, completely aware that there was an angle. I just had to figure out what it was.

She had her newly shorn auburn hair swept into a ponytail and her hands propped on her hips. With the face of a Barbie doll and the attitude of a teenager, I always found it difficult to believe that this 33-year-old, indecisive, often flighty woman was my mother.

"_Mom_," I said, pulling another frame from the box. "What's going on here?"

"I already _told_ you–"

"But where did you get all this stuff?"

"What 'stuff'?"

"The table, the chairs, the decorations... everything that wasn't here when I left for the auditions—"

"Oh." She shrugged. "A friend."

"A 'friend'?"

We'd only been in town for _two_ days, which obviously meant that this "friend" was most likely–

"An internet buddy," she said. "He just wanted to help…"

"_Mother_!"

I wanted to be surprised, but I couldn't muster the simplest shock. _Of course!_ That was her angle. She wanted me to hop on board and be excited for her newfound love. Of course, I couldn't. Because this wasn't the first time she'd made the decision to move to a new city – or even state – because of an 'internet buddy'. It was just another one of her many adolescent qualities. She couldn't understand the danger of the unknown; I've known her to spend hours at a time chatting online, texting with old friends, and gabbing on the phone with God only knows who.

"Calm down, Bella," she said. "It's not like he's a stranger. I've been talking to him for _months_. He's a nice guy."

I rubbed my head. "Is that why we ended up here this time? _Because of a man_?"

"Of course not," she said, adjusting the curtains again to avoid my stare. "I mean, he did _influence_ the decision, but he wasn't the sole reason." I took a deep breath and backed into the kitchen. "Bella, where are you going?"

"_Crazy_," I mumbled. I pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator before returning to the dining room. "I guess he's been here already? Your knight in shining armor, he knows where we live?"

"You don't seriously think I carried all of this on my own, do you?"

"_Oh my gosh_," I said, feeling the beginning of a terrible migraine. "So what happens when you find out he's an ex-con, Mom? Or you guys breakup? _Or you find out he's married_? Do we pack up and _leave _again?"

"No, Bella, I told you: we're here for the long haul. I promise."

"But I've heard that before. Things change, Renee–"

"Really, Bella," she said, embracing me in a hug. "Calvin is a keeper. Oh, and _so cute. _He has this oddest shade of bronze colored hair, chocolate eyes, and…_ugh, _you should see his smile." Her eyes glossed over at the simple thought of him. "Plus he's a chef – owns his own restaurant, has a college degree and _everything._"

"Woo-freaking-hoo," I said, shaking out of her hug. "Mom, seriously–"

"And his youngest brother's a _cop_!" she enthused.

"Okay," I said, pulling a seat from under the table to sit down. "Sit." She took the chair next to mind and leaned forward. "Tell me about Calvin."

"He has brown eyes–"

"No, Mom," I cut her off, sighing. "I mean _really. _What makes him different that the rest? What makes him different than Shane?"

Shane was her latest fling; after three months of dating, she found he was married with _two _children (and another on the way!). And sure, Renee Dwyer loved her men, but she wanted them all to herself. And after a disastrous confrontation from Shane's wife, Mom ended the relationship and we moved.

"I don't know–"

"_Exactly."_

"I didn't meet this one in a chat room, Bella," she said. "I put some money toward one of those legitimate online match sites. We were paired the next day and talked for _hours_! We knew from day one that we wanted to meet."

I lifted my glasses and pinched the bridge of my nose. "How old is he?"

"Thirty-one."

"Younger, but age appropriate," I mused, dropping my hand.

"There's a first time for everything, huh?"

We shared a smile.

"Just…promise me one thing?"

"What's that, baby?" she asked.

"That you'll be careful," I said. "Because…I _can't _keep doing this."

Forks held promise – it was a possibility that we could make a home here. I didn't want her to ruin that chance for me.

Without a moment's hesitation, she nodded. "I promise, Bella."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **_I do not own Twilight, 'nuff said._

* * *

**Tuesday, September 06****th**

I stood at Mr. Masen's closed door and read the list. Jessica would be thrilled to know that she'd been cast as Juliet. Mike, on the other hand, would shudder to learn that his time on stage wasn't limited to one audition at the loss of a bet; he was playing Romeo.

I scanned down the rest of the cast list and didn't recognize any of the remaining names. Lauren Mallory, though, was named understudy for Juliet. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little excited to see her face when she learned she was only second best to Jessica.

The next page listed the crews. Under the costumes section, I read:

_Isabella Swan  
Costume Design & Management_

A smile crept up.

For the first time, I was officially participating in a school activity. I had a place, a role of my own!

I opened the door and let myself in the classroom. Mr. Masen sat at his desk and read the morning newspaper silently to himself. He looked up and smiled. "Could you close the door behind you, Miss Swan?"

"Sure thing." I nodded, closing the door quietly as I walked in.

Jessica and Mike were the only two students in the room – both who I had assumed arrived early to check the cast list.

Jessica was bouncing in her seat as I sat down.

"I'm Juliet, Bella! _Me_! _I'm _Juliet Capulet! _Can you believe it_?"

"Congratulations," I said, now peering over at Mike. He was slouched in his chair with his forehead and nose pressed to the desk. "Is _he _okay?"

"I'm gonna kill myself–"

"Oh, you are not," Jessica interjected, scoffing. "It's a _good thing, _Mike." She turned back to me and was practically beaming. "I saw your name, Bella! _Congrats_! I bet you're ecstatic!"

I felt the blood rushing to my cheeks as they heated up, and nodded my head. "So…why is Mr. Masen keeping the door shut?"

"he thinks people are too dramatic with their reactions to the cast list," she answered, brushing it off.

"What happened," Mike explained, lifting his head, "is that he made the mistake of leaving it open when _Hormones _here read the list." Jessica rolled her eyes, but Mike sat straighter. "You think I'm kidding? It was the biggest scene ever created on school property. She jumped, she screamed... she cursed. At one point, she started hyperventilating. We thought she was gonna pass out right there on the floor."

"And you?" I asked him, having no doubt that his description of Jessica's reaction was spot-on.

"I actually _did_ pass out," he said, and I didn't doubt that either.

The bell rang and the students poured into the room. Mr. Masen stood from his desk and addressed the class. "Good morning," he said. "Let's get started, shall we?"

After a lengthy reading assignment and instructions on upcoming research papers, the bell sounded for the change of class. Jessica, Mike, and I stood up and gathered our books.

"Miss Stanley, Mr. Newton, Miss Swan – congratulations," Mr. Masen said.

"Thanks," Jessica and I said in unison, both blushing like children. I'm certain I heard Mike mumble _'bite me'_ as we left the room.

We moved into the hallway and through the growing group of students rushing to their next class. I walked side-by-side with Mike as Jessica turned off into French. As we moved past Miss Holt's room, she stepped out and stopped us dead in our tracks.

"Michael," she said, smiling. "Congratulations, our very own Romeo Montague."

"Thanks," he said, almost as if talking to her left a sour taste in his mouth.

"And _Bella_," she said, lowering her head. I could tell from her expression alone that she had no intention of congratulating me. And I was right. "I'd hate to remind you again that there are strict policies against student-teacher fraternization."

I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry?"

"He is your teacher," she said, bending slightly at the waist. "As am I. And I will see to it that you are watched very closely, young lady."

A few quiet moments passed. Miss Holt refused to blink and I didn't respond. Honestly, I didn't know how to respond. What exactly did she want me to say?

"_Right_," Mike said, breaking the awkward silence. "Off to class." He grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the hall. My concern must've come across pretty easily because he stopped mid-walk and took my hand. "Hey… you okay?"

"Fine," I lied, shaking my head. "That was just… strange–"

"Don't think too much on it," he said, now patting my back. "All I can figure is you musta made some kinda impact on Mr. M., and _someone_" –he peered back at Miss Holt– "doesn't know how to hide her insecurities."

I followed his gaze and looked back at our young, beautiful math teacher. She was now engaged in conversation with Mr. Masen – who'd since left his own room. She playfully nudged him, giggled, and smiled. He seemed uncomfortable, out of his element. I watched him sympathetically. But then he glanced up, no longer looking at her, and met my stare. Both expressionless, our eyes locked for a few long beats. And just as Mike waved his hand in front of my face, I thought I caught a faint smirk from Mr. Masen…but there was no way to know for sure.

Because the bell rang.

And we were late for class.

* * *

**Friday, September 9****th**

Three days passed, and each seemed to drag on longer as they came. Mike and I hadn't mentioned our run- in with Miss Holt to anyone – especially Jessica. We weren't really sure what'd happened or why. Still, it was _finally _Friday. No reason to fret over the uncontrollable.

The final bell rang to end the day and Jessica and I walked out of Physics. We strolled down the hall, out the door, and onto Main Street. Destination: home, for a study date (leading to the first sleepover of my life!).

We walked through the front door to find the house filled with an overwhelming smell of baked goods. Following the aroma to the kitchen, we found my mother in a sun dress, pearls, heels, and apron.

"You look like Donna Reed," I remarked, taking stock of all the baked goods scattered around the kitchen.

"_Who_?" she asked, pulling a fresh batch of cookies from the oven.

I sighed and shook my head. "Mom, this is Jessica. Jessica, this creature…" I looked at Mom again and shook my head in disbelief. "This is Renee, my mother."

"Look, Bella," Mom said wearing a smile. "I baked goodies for your sleepover."

"_Yum_–"

"Are the edible?" I asked skeptically, interrupting Jessica.

"Of course they are," Mom insisted, rolling her eyes. But I had little reason to believe so. She had _never _excelled in anything domestic. If there was any cooking down within the house, it was always _me. _"Don't worry, Calvin taught me all of the basics."

I grabbed a cookie from the cooling rack and cautiously took a bite. "_Mmm…_Okay," I said, chewing slowly. "They're actually not _too _bad."

"Don't seem so surprised." Her eyes filld with tears. "I told you Calvin would be good for us, Bella."

"We're going to head upstairs to study," I said, a little frightened by her emotional response to my semi-compliment.

"Feel free to keep the cookies coming, Renee," Jessica said.

Jessica and I turned and walked back through the foyer.

In a matter of days, Mom had managed to turn a cluttered and box-filled house into a fully furnished and decorated ome. The environment was so welcoming and comforting that it almost felt like another dimension. In the past, the closest thing we'd ever had to furniture was bookshelves made of cardboard boxes. Now, with a dining room table, couch, and chairs, I hoped she could stay true to her word. I was really starting love Forks.

Up the stairs and at the end of the hallway was a single, large bedroom; my sanctuary. Of all the places I'd slept in my life, this was _by far _the best. There was a large bay window – padded window seat included – that overlooked the backyard. The view, however, was slightly obstructed by a giant oak tree growing too close to the side of the house.

My room was the only one left that hadn't been unpacked. Boxes were still stacked and piled across the hardwood floor and in the closet. The bed was unmade and covered in mismatched sheets, pillow cases, and comforters. My desk was empty with the expcetion of a laptop and a silver touch lamp.

"Not much for housekeeping," Jessica said without shame.

I smirked. "We don't stay put for very long. Why get attached?"

"You need to at least paint these butt-ugly walls," Jessica said. "How do you even _sleep _in here? That color is _hideous_–"

"It's not easy," I admitted. This much was true…if we stayed, the lime green had to go.

Jessica raised a finger to her mouth and looked around the room. Deep in thought, she turned back to me and smirked. "How confident do you feel about Monday's English test?"

"Very," I answered without a second thought.

"Then we're not studying tonight."

"We're not?"

"No." She shook her head. "We're painting."

We ventured into town in Mom's car – thank God Jessica could drive – and returned two hour later with a gallon of lavender paint for the walls. Jessica showed me how to tape the wooden trim along the floor ceiling. After taping, we took a break to make a frozen pizza.

The started to set and Jessica and I made out way back to my room. After filing a paint tray and holding a roller in hand, I stared blankly at the wall. "Uh, Jess… I have _no idea _what I'm doing."

"It's just like a painting set," she said, like that should be a clue. "One stroke at a time."

She smiled and dipped her roller into a puddle of liquid lavender. With a few strikes against the wall, the lime green slowly disappeared. I followed her lead and helped cover the first wall. Then the second. Then the third. And finally, the fourth. By five AM, the room had survived a full second coat.

To avoid the fumes, we gathered blankets from the linen closet and made a large bed on the floor of the guest bedroom down the hall. Snuggled tightly under the blankets, I rolled to my side and nudged Jessica.

"Hmm?" she asked sleepily.

"Thank you," I murmured.

"For what?"

"For being my friend," I told her, smiling. "And for making this adjustment so easy."

"I'm awesome, I know."

We shared a sleep-deprived laugh.

"The room turned out great," I said, closing my heavy eyes.

"Mmhmm."

"Goodnight, Jess."

"G'night, Bella," she said, rolling to her side.

I closed my eyes, and for the first time in my life, counted my blessings. Mom had never been much of a mother, only a clueless teenager with a driver's license. But still, she put a roof (or two) over my head each year. Jessica and Mike were the closest thing I'd ever had to siblings and the best friends a girl could ask for. My design were getting better with time, and Mr. Masen himself had recognized the potential.

_Oh, and speaking of… _I'd developed my first _real _crush.

It was hard _not _to be swept away by the sincerity in his eyes the sweetness in his voice, the kindness of his words…

"Bella," Jessica interrupted my train of thought.

"Yeah?" I asked, pushing the mental image of our teacher aside.

"You ever been in love?"

"Nope." _Not unless you could whatever it is that has me hung up on our teacher._

"I think I am," she said, sleep falling on her faster then before.

"With Mr. Masen?" I teased.

She snorted. "No."

"With who?" Silence. "_Jess_?"

She opened her eyes a bit longer, no longer looking the slightest bit tired. "Mike."

I drew my lips together and nodded. Of course she liked Mike – I saw that one coming from a mile away.

_But does he like her?_

* * *

**Author's Note: **_I hope y'all are enjoying the story so far! :) I love writing it! And just in case there is any confusion, this is a student/teacher story. If you don't like it, then just don't read it. _

_Please review! :) _


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